


New Year's Eve

by violetking



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, US Comedians RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetking/pseuds/violetking
Summary: Writing Prompts:-You're at a party when you spot an ex. Quick, you urgently have to pretend to be dating the nearest person, who happens to be very attractive.-Well, that was a New Year's Eve kiss you won't forget anytime soon.Visualization here!
Relationships: John Mulaney/Annamarie Tendler Mulaney, Nick Kroll/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	New Year's Eve

You swirl the straw in your drink, desperately wishing for midnight. You hadn’t had the worst year of your life or anything - this party was just super boring. You were happy for the invite from John and Anna, sure, but it seemed like everyone was either coupled up, completely wasted, or was...the magician who had just begun performing. Great.

You decide that you’ll take this opportunity to head to the balcony. At the very least, the cold New York air might re-energize you a bit.

Stepping outside and sliding the door closed behind you, you start to hum to fill the silence, eventually singing the song you’d had stuck in your head for hours.

“If I go to jail tonight...” you rest your arms on the railing and bob your head, continuing, “promise you’ll pay my bail…”

“What exactly are you planning for tonight?” You turn around quickly, nearly falling over. Seated in the corner, one leg crossed over the other, chuckling and smoking a cigarette, is...someone. He looks familiar. You know he’s friends with John and Anna, but you don’t immediately recognize him. He continues, eyes narrowed, “Do you think they told McCartney that hook was for a Rihanna/Kanye track? Seems far-fetched.” He puffs on his cigarette.

“I-I didn’t think anyone else was out here,” you stammer, not entirely sure why you’re so caught off-guard or embarrassed. You take a sip of your drink. It makes you feel like at least you’re doing something.

“And I thought I would be alone.” He stands up, offering his hand. “I’m Nick.”

You shake his hand, and he can tell you’re trying to place him, if for no other reason than your obvious silence. He offers, “I went to college with John.”

“I met Anna through a mutual friend.” Well, that was dumb. He didn’t ask and you realize in that moment that you’re still shaking his hand. You pull back, shifting your drink from one hand to another. “And I guess I just needed some fresh air. Although…” you trail off, as he blows a ring of cigarette smoke, leaning against the balcony railing next to you.

“Go ahead. Tell me that it’s almost 2016 and I shouldn’t be smoking. Come on.” He waves his hand, welcoming the oft-suggested-never-asked-for truth. “You can join the likes of my mom, my sisters, my publicist, my ex-girlfriend, John and Anna, Michelle Obama,...”

You laugh and you can see your breath. “Honestly, I’ll take the smoke over the magician in there.” You point to the apartment and shake your head.

Nick rolls his eyes. “I told John having a magician was a dumb idea.”

He waits a beat.

“I hate magicians.” He declares, taking a drag of his cigarette. “They’re straight up lying to people.” 

You look at him, half-confused, half-intrigued. “Okay, interesting take. Sounds more like you don’t like liars, so much as magicians.”

He flicks the ash off the end of the cigarette and twirls it in his hand. “Who are you, my therapist?” He laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no. Far be it from me to give anyone advice. Especially someone I don’t know,” you gesture to him, “Do what you want. Do what makes you happy.” You finish your drink. “That’s my plan for 2016, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, my resolution is to quit smoking.” He inhales, the end of the cigarette glowing red. “But I’ve been recycling that resolution for like,” he pretends to count on his fingers, “a **hundred** years.”

You laugh and he laughs and maybe this party isn’t so bad after all.

“So, who did you come with?” He continues, clarifying, “to the party, I mean.”

“Oh, uh, no one.” You kind of hate saying it outloud. Is it weird to go to a New Year’s Eve party alone?

“Same.” He answers. You feel relieved.

He motions to your glass as he puts out his cigarette. “Do you want to get another drink?” He asks, as he picks up his own glass.

You nod and he opens the door for you to head inside. Starting toward the kitchen, you turn to speak to Nick when you do a double take. Whatever you were going to say is gone from your mind in an instant.

And there he is. Your ex. With a girl. With THE girl. It’s been months since you’ve seen each other. You do your best to appear calm and unfazed, returning to the bar to refill your drink. Seeing the bottle of tequila sitting on the counter, you quickly change course to pour a shot and down it.

“Okay, okay, I see how this night is going to go.” Nick is standing there, halfway through making his own concoction.

“I might actually go to jail tonight,” you try to jokingly whisper, but the party is too loud to whisper, and Nick looks at you, trying to piece together what you’ve said, and before you can explain yourself, you can hear him saying your name. He’s spotted you.

“Fuck.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale. Nick is staring at you now, perplexed. You take a deep breath and turn around, hoping that shot will calm you quickly. Smile.

“How are you?” He’s there, standing there, in front of you, all of a sudden, leaning in for a hug. You want to vomit. You can’t believe he’s seen you naked. You’ve seen him naked. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to rid yourself of the memory, and quickly pat him on the back with the one arm you’ve contributed to this half-hearted hug. In this moment, you’re happy that you put some effort into tonight’s appearance.

“Fine,” is all you can say, with an all-too-enthusiastic smile and head nod.

A drink is being handed to you and you look at it, the person giving it to you, and back again. You stammer out “oh, uh, thanks,” and manage a smile at Nick.

You stand, the four of you there, staring at each other, for a beat too long.

“Sooo...how’s everybody know each other?” Nick asks in a sing-songy voice, holding his straw and obnoxiously taking a sip.

“Oh, sorry. How rude of me! This is my ex-boyfriend,” You motion to him, anger bubbling to the surface. Were you still this affected by him almost a year later?

“Wait, I’m sorry. This is my ex- **fiancé** , Frederick.” You clap your hands together, leaning forward, as if you’re wondering how you could have possibly forgotten. His face is...guilty? Embarrassed? Slightly annoyed?

“Oh, and Autumn. His girlfriend, now, I assume?” You cock your head to the side. If she feels any sort of remorse, she doesn’t show it. She couldn’t be less interested in this interaction.

“Great to meet you guys.” Nick shakes their hands, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stifles a laugh. “I’m Nick.”

Before you know what’s happening, before you can stop yourself, before you have a second to think about it, you hear yourself saying, “Nick is my boyfriend.” 

Well, that was dumb. You’re preparing to be absolutely humiliated. Hello?! This man literally JUST told you that he hates liars. Great plan.

Taking a sip of your drink, steadying yourself, you begrudgingly look to Nick. He’s amused. He slips his free hand around your waist.

“Oh, um, great,” Frederick offers. Did he expect this conversation would have gone better than this?

Another awkward beat passes.

“Well, as much fun as all of this,” Nick motions a circle between the four of you with the drink in his hand, “was, we have to go say goodbye to our friend. He’s a magician.” You laugh out loud, covering your mouth with your hand.

Nick steers you away from the group, his hand lightly pressed against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing his arm, “for playing along.”

“Oh, you owe me at least the story there.” He responds. As you take a sip of your drink, you can’t help but notice that his arm is still wrapped around your waist.

“So what’s the plan here?” He asks, stealing a glance in their direction. “Do we want to make him jealous? Or do we not care that he’s here?”

Registering that he used “we” instead of “you” offers you some sense of relief. You look in their direction.

“Both, I guess? I don’t know.” You shrug, inadvertently leaning closer to him.

“Okay, well,” he whispers into your ear, “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?” Ever the gentleman.

“You don’t have to do that…” you turn your face to his, subconsciously licking your lips.

You don’t care that your ex is here. You don’t care that he’s here with his new girlfriend. You don’t care that it’s New Year’s Eve. The only thing you care about is this man standing in front of you, who has - for some reason - agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend for the evening.

You’re fully aware that you want to kiss him...and not to make anyone else jealous or upset. You’re also fully aware that it’s not the best idea. You met him less than an hour ago and you’ve had approximately one real conversation and it began with Rihanna lyrics. Your head is spinning.

“Fuck it,” you decide, though you didn’t intend to verbalize that thought. You lean in, tentative, and gently press your lips to his. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. His hand around your waist pulls you closer as he breaks the kiss. He returns with a quick peck as you open your eyes. You smile at him, the slightest bit of blush creeping into your cheeks.

“Well, I can confidently say that’s the only time that someone has used the phrase “fuck it” before kissing me.” He affirms, slightly confused and self-conscious. His quick wit makes you laugh out loud, and you cover your face with your free hand. He takes a sip of his drink, punctuating his statement.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You continue laughing, pressing your hand to your chest. “Thank you, thank you.”

He cocks his head to the side, contemplating, before he says, “Yeaaah, I also don’t think anyone has ever thanked me **after** kissing me, either.”

Before you can begin to put together a response, Anna and John have joined you, wide-eyed and overly interested.

“So, what’s going on over here?” John asks, as he plants himself in front of the two of you, hands on his hips.

“Oh, well, Nick is pretending to be my boyfriend tonight, I guess…?” you explain, looking to Nick, though you know that won’t be enough for these two. You also aren’t sure that at all justifies the kiss you just shared.

“Oh, of course! John, they’re just pretending to be together.” Anna shoves John’s shoulder as she rolls her eyes, as if to say, “how could we have assumed anything else?”

“Right, right, because that’s totally what this looks like,” John points back and forth between the two of you, and behind his smile and squinted eyes, you know he’s formulated a million insane ideas.

He continues, “I actually said to Anna, ‘aren’t they possibly rehearsing a kissing scene from a play? Perhaps her lips are dry and they’re sharing chapstick.’” He’s loving this too much and he’s so excited. Clapping his hands, he goes on, “Oh, oh: maybe she’s just consumed poison and he’s saving her life!”

“Listen, man, seriously,” Nick lowers his voice, leaning closer to the host and hostess. “Her ex is here and we’re trying to be cool and you are blowing it.” Nick nods in Frederick’s direction, and John and Anna are visibly displeased when they notice him. They look back to the two of you.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you offer with a shrug and a smirk.

Anna reaches out to grab your arm. Frowning, she apologizes.

“Sorry, I should have let you know that we invited him. Or we shouldn’t have invited him at all.” She turns to look at John.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he grimaces. “Oof, yeah, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s really okay.” You wave off their regrets. “Truly.” 

John thinks for a second. Grins. “But you’re welcome for inviting Nick!” He practically yells, pleased with himself, as he points in your direction.

Anna sighs, mouths another “sorry,” and hooks John’s elbow as she walks away, pulling him from his place, all the while shaking her head.

Nick finishes his drink and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You let out a sigh of relief and down the rest of your drink, too. “More than anything.”

He turns toward the door, ready to make his way through the sea of people to exit the party. Without looking back, he offers his hand. A simple gesture, sure, and certainly something a person pretending to be your boyfriend would do, but it makes your heart skip all the same. You slide your hand into his and he gives you a squeeze. Reaching the door, he drops your hand, but he’s smiling at you as he puts on his coat and scarf. You follow suit and once you’ve closed the door to Anna and John’s apartment and stepped outside, it’s silent. The snow-covered streets are deserted in the village. Walking side by side, your shoulders occasionally bump.

“Hey, so, thank you,” you start, the snow crunching under your feet, “I hadn’t seen him in a while and I wasn’t expecting him to be there. I was caught off-guard and feeling desperately lonely when I saw them there together. But I shouldn’t have roped you into all of that. I’m sorry that this is what your New Year’s Eve has become.”

He stops walking and looks at you. “Are you joking? If you hadn’t shown up, I’d still be chain smoking on the balcony.” He laughs, shrugs. “Honestly, it was kinda fun.”

Nick resumes walking, and you realize neither of you have verbalized a destination. It’s 11:30 on New Year’s Eve and you’re aimlessly walking around New York with a comedian you met an hour ago. You never could have predicted it, but you couldn’t imagine another place you’d rather be.

“Hey, do you wanna grab a slice?” Nick asks, motioning to the hole-in-the-wall pizza place across the street that’s empty, save for the staff.

“I always want to grab a slice.” You reply, heading toward the neon-lit windows without hesitation.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting at a table, wolfing down a huge slice of pizza (that Nick insisted on paying for) and half-paying attention to Ryan Seacrest on the television in the corner.

“Have you ever done the Times Square thing?” He asks, nodding in the direction of the television. He takes a bite of his pizza.

You shake your head. “No. I don’t have any interest in it.”

“Me either.” He declares. “What about Frederick? I bet he’s a guy who loves Times Square year-round.” He’s proud of his observation.

“Oh, funny you should ask.” Shifting your weight in your seat, you continue, “Last year, Frederick wanted to go but I didn’t and we got into this huge fight. He went anyway, and I found out later that he had made plans to meet up with Autumn.” You wipe your hands on your napkin, before throwing it onto your tray and leaning back in your chair. “I’m not entirely sure how long it was going on before that, but long enough. So of course I would see him tonight, of all nights.” You look across the table and Nick is wincing. “Ugh, sorry. That’s a lot of information.”

“Hey, I’m the one who brought it up.” He’s quick to reply. “Sorry.” 

“It’s really okay. The most frustrating thing is that I have made peace with it. I wouldn’t have acted like a crazy person if I had known prior to the party that he was coming to John and Anna’s, or if it was any other day of my life. He couldn’t have gone to Times Square **this** year?” You laugh at your own joke, hoping to change the tone of the conversation.

“Hey, you didn’t act like a crazy person.” Nick offers. You look at him and roll your eyes. “Well, slightly crazy, but it’s not like you burned the apartment building down.”

Picking up your trays, you stand. “You don’t know that. Maybe I did.” You wink at him and laugh, unable to keep a straight face.

“Ready to go?” Nick asks when you return to the table, as he gathers his winter belongings and stands up.

You nod and bundle up, preparing to step back out into the winter air.

As you exit the pizzeria, you check your phone. 11:59 on December 31st.

“Less than a minute left in this year.” You observe, turning to face him.

You’ve both stopped walking and are standing outside the pizzeria, watching the countdown on the television in the corner through the large glass storefront. The staff inside are counting down and you look at Nick and grin, joining in on 10. He rolls his eyes and you poke him in the side, coaxing him to play along. He grabs his ribs dramatically and you laugh, but by 3 he’s counting with you.

At 1, you pick up a handful of snow and throw it above the two of you like confetti, yelling, “Happy New Year!”

Before you know what’s happening, his lips are on yours and you find yourself wrapped up in him. His arms are around your waist and he’s pulling you closer. It takes a moment for you to kiss him back but you do - of course you do. Your hands move to his face and then to the back of his neck, and you would have stood in Times Square for six hours to have this kiss. By the time he pulls back, you feel dizzy. You keep your eyes closed for an extra second, wanting to remember this feeling and this night.

“Happy New Year,” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “Oh, and thank you.”

You erupt into a fit of laughter, finally distancing your body from his, and hitting him on the shoulder.

“Not letting you live that one down anytime soon, baby.” He declares, and holds his hand out for you to take.

“Can I walk you home?” You nod and slip your hand into his, grateful for magicians, Rihanna, and pizza.

Happy New Year, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Used this photo for inspo: https://tmblr.co/Z7b9Dw1-2eVvm
> 
> Song mentioned (repeatedly) is FourFiveSeconds by Rihanna, Kanye West, and Paul McCartney.


End file.
